


Unhealthy Obsession

by juniperproductions



Category: Danganronpa
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Horror, M/M, Murder, Psychological Horror, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-24 10:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13808949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniperproductions/pseuds/juniperproductions
Summary: Nagito Komaeda is a little too attached to the reserve course student Hajime Hinata, but it can’t be such a bad thing if it saves Hajime’s life– can it?





	1. Chapter One: Too Close for Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings for Chapter One: Vomit, Suicide, Overdose, Stalking, Masturbation  
> Dislaimer: This fic does not aim to romanticize any of the theme present in the writing. Please use discretion when deciding whether or not to read this fanfic. It is graphic and may be disturbing to some audiences.  
> Also, this is my first ever fanfiction, so please give me feedback! I will release the chapters each Sunday.

When people talk about what they love, usually it’s something stupid, like baseball, or dancing, or photography. Well not for me. I love hope. And for me, that hope it one person. Hajime Hinata.  
I went to the same middle school as Hajime, but we were never in the same class, which was really unfortunate. I only got to see him after school, or around. He hasn’t changed much in all of his years. He still eats the same brand of yogurt as he did in middle school, the same number of them every week, in the same pattern. He loves orange juice and always has some packed in his lunch. He’s grown ten centimeters though, so he’s thrown out his old uniform, which is fine with me because now I can have it. And this year, we’re both going to the same school again—Hopes Peak Academy.  
It’s really a shame though that we won’t be in the same class again. This stupid luck is really unlucky sometimes. He’s in the reserve course, while I’m in the main talent course. But it doesn’t matter. Because he’s an ultimate to me—the ultimate hope. And I’ll never ever leave him.

He gets up every morning before school to an alarm set for 6:30. I give myself an hour to leave his house, get home, change, and get myself ready for school so I can be there when he wakes up. Every minute I’m away from him seems to get harder every day. But it’s 5:30, so I climb down from my perch in the tree in the yard outside of his dorm and scurry off between the cars. My dorm is just across the street and over a fence, so all I have to do is cut through the grass and squeeze through a hole in the chain link, and I’m pretty much back to my room. I open the door slowly at first, then scoot in quickly and tiptoe down the hallway to my form. I open the door quietly and drop my bag on the floor. It has my school supplies in it, since I don’t spend much time at my own dorm, but it also has a camera and a walkie talkie as well, and a notebook for observations. Sometimes I feel like a scientist, studying the perfect specimen, learning his movement.  
I strip down quickly, throwing my uniform on the floor near my hamper. I quickly reach into my bag and grab a few things, then head to my shower. I’m lucky that Hope’s Peak gives the students their own bathrooms. It makes my morning routine a lot easier.  
I turn the shower on and flip a switch on my walkie talkie. On the other side is a heavy, restful breathing. Hajime is still asleep. The transmission only goes on way, and the room is soundproof, so I can be as loud as I want. Which is lucky, because I’ve never been very quiet.  
Slowly, I start stroking my shaft, the soft pink skin tingling under my grip. It’s not long until I’m hard. I stroke faster and faster, and the feeling of pleasure grows in me so strongly that I have to kneel on the floor. My hips arch uncontrollably. His breathing persists above the sound of the falling water, and even my own moans. “H-Hajime—ah! Ah!” I pretend that I’m touching him instead, that his breathing is panting in my ear, that my pleasure is his. The arm I have myself propped up on gives out, and I rest my head on the floor of the shower. I try to push myself back up to a sitting position, but the pleasure grows in me so strongly that I can hardly see straight.  
“Ah… ah….” I continue rubbing myself, hearing his breathing as it overtakes my consciousness. “Ha-Hajime!” I feel the tension in my body building, everything throbbing and pulsing. My heart beats strong and fast.  
Finally, I cum. The sticky white substance coats my hand. My breathing is heavy, and it mixes with the slow steady breathing coming from the walkie talkie. It’s like he’s here with me. I wish he really were.  
My breathing slows, and I finish my shower. I switch off the walkie talkie and exit the shower, drying myself quickly with a towel. I slide into my uniform.  
I sit down at my computer and plug in my camera. Up pops a menu, and then from there, I open the folder with all of my pictures from the previous day. I’m flooded with joy as I see his face again. Hajime stares out the window, almost right at me. Part of me believes he knows I was there and was looking for me. Part of me knows this isn’t true. But all of me still feels my heart skip a beat when I look into his eyes. I quickly scroll through the pictures, then download them onto my hard drive. I pack my camera back up into my bag and check the time. I still have fifteen minutes until his alarm goes off. I sling my bag over my shoulder and step into the hallway. I turn and lock the door, then begin to trot off to the front door. However, I almost fall backward as I round the corner and bump into Nekomaru.  
“Good morning Komaeda!” he says, his loud voice filling up the hallway. I wince at the sound of my own name being said so loudly. I shrink back slightly, hoping to disappear, but hide my disdain enough to respond.  
“Hello, Nekomaru-san. It’s good to see you. Quite early to be talking so lou—”  
“What gets you up so early today?” he interjects. I hide my discomfort, knowing that each passing moment means less time until I can get to Hajime.  
“Just studying.”  
“If you’re going to be up this early, you should come train with Akane and me! We did 1000 push-ups today! Based on the look of you, you couldn’t do half that!”  
Well, most people couldn’t do half that, but I’ll leave it alone. “Maybe another day, Nekomaru. For now I—”  
“I’ll hold you to it! You must train!” He might as well be yelling for how loud he is. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the dorm heard him even with the sound proofing. He quickly walks past me and cuts down the hallway. I sigh deeply and check the clock. I still have plenty of time.   
I walk quickly across the manicured grass and squeeze through the fence again. Before long, I am outside his window, and with 5 minutes to spare. I have time to look through my notebook again.  
I open up to the most recent page. There’s a picture of Hajime at lunch with some reserve course students. He looks miserable, surrounded by such unexciting people. I stroke the picture quietly. I read a few of the things I have written on the accompanying page.  
“Today Hajime slept in for ten minutes, which almost made him late to class. He seems to be less motivated to go recently, and even stayed home the other day to lie in bed.”  
“Today I skipped class to watch Hajime because he didn’t leave his dorm. He must be feeling down. Maybe I should talk to him.”  
“I learned the most amazing thing about Hajime today. Apparently, he into that. He looks so beautiful when he touches himself. He really should learn to close the blinds, or anyone could walk by and see his beautiful body rises and fall with delight. No one needs to know but me.”  
That last one is my favorite. I have a few pictures from that day tacked in on the next page of my notebook. The way he looks, the sweat beading on his forehead, the slow steady pace of his movements, the way he closes his eyes as he moans, it’s like he was posing for me. I want to see him do it again and again. The pictures are beautiful. They turned out so well. I got every little expression, every thrust of his hips, like a dance with himself.  
I have to cover my own mouth to stop myself from letting out a moan as I think about it. I check the time. One minute. I put my notebook back in my bag quickly and pull out my camera. I sit at the ready for the moment he stirs to the sound of his alarm.  
Silence. Beautiful silence as the sunlight peaks through his window and casts gentle shadows on his face. Click. I snap a picture. The moment is too wonderful to forget.  
Suddenly I see him stir, as his alarm rings silently on the other side of the soundproofed glass. Click. I catch the moment he opens his eyes. He pulls himself up in bed carefully, deliberately, and turns off his alarm. He sits for a moment, a moment that seems to last forever. Click. He just stares at the wall ahead of him blankly. I wait in silent anticipation. Finally, he pushes the covers off of his bare legs and swings his feet over the edge of his bed. He stands up with nothing on but his boxers. Click. He doesn’t move. Just stands there. Suddenly, he sits back down on his bed. He glances at the clock on his bedside table and lets out a sigh. He opens the drawer on his bedside and pulls out… what is that? A bottle of some kind?  
I use my camera and zoom in, snapping a picture of his delicate hand wrapping around the unknown object. I look closely for a moment, the gears turning in my head. A pill bottle? Hajime hasn’t taken pills for as long as I’ve known him. I’ve never seen him take so much as an aspirin. I look up from my camera quickly, and my breath catches in my throat. I see him dump a handful of pills into his hand, take a deep breath, and throw them into his mouth. My heart stops. I feel my chest tighten, and my throat clench. I almost call out to him, but I shouldn’t even if I could, because he can’t know I’m here, and even if I did call out he wouldn’t hear me. He winces, and I see him grab a glass of water and force the pills down his throat. Tears start to form in his eyes. I can’t help myself. I take a picture.  
He starts coughing, and coughing violently. I think he’s about to throw up. I see him lean back on his bed and clutch at his throat as if he’s choking. In a moment he sits back up, and by this point he’s sobbing, but breathing. Before I know what I’m doing, my body is moving on its own. I amble down the tree so fast that it feels like falling, and I force my way through the door. I’m lucky they don’t lock the front door, since you need a student ID to get onto school grounds in the first place. Everything moved in slow motion, but I’m running as fast as I can. I don’t even think about what I’m doing, I just run.  
I pause outside of his door. Do I open it? Do I knock? He won’t answer. I know he won’t. What do I do? What excuse do I have for being here?  
I don’t care. I can’t lose him. I can’t lose my hope, I can’t lose Hajime.  
I knock, trying to do so calmly, but I end up hitting the door harder than I intended. A shaky voice calls from the other side, “Not right now.”  
I want to call out to him, but I can’t. I can’t think of any words. The whole world is a blur. I knock again. “Not right now,” the voice calls out again, more angrily this time. I know he always locks his door. Almost always.  
I turn the handle and find myself practically falling into his room, having put my whole body weight into pushing open the door. I find myself standing in front of Hajime, the sunlight casting a heavenly glow all about him so that he looks like he is an angel. It’s surreal. I can’t believe a thing about this situation. I can’t believe how beautiful he is, and that he could die right in front of me.  
His eyes are red and his cheeks puffy. His whole face is still marked with the shuttering sobs I saw him shake out just moments ago, thinking he was alone. There are tear streaks across his cheeks. He looks beautiful.  
Suddenly, his face contorts in rage and confusion, as if he doesn’t know what to feel. He still looks sad, but now there’s a glint in his eye that looks like fire, and a part of me is scared and excited. He hasn’t looked so alive since coming here.  
“What—who—what are you—Komaeda-san? Why are you here? How did you—wasn’t my door—what—”  
I run over and grab him in my arms. He tenses up. The smell of him fills my nose, the sweat mixed with last night’s shampoo, the saltiness of his tears so strong it stings, yet it feels so good. He feels solid in my grasp, much stronger than I would have imagined.  
“Hajime—” I say breathlessly. It’s the only word I can manage.  
Suddenly, he pushes against me and manages to pry me off of himself. I stumble backward.  
“What are you doing here? Didn’t you hear me? I said not now! Go away! I don’t want to see you!”  
His voice is rich and warm, but I can still hear it breaking slightly the more he speaks, the emotion cracking through. If I could taste it, it would be honey, sweet and soft. His voice—  
“Komaeda! Go away!”  
I don’t respond, I just grab his arm and drag him towards the bathroom.  
“Komaeda, stop!” I feel his struggling, yanking his own arm away with his other hand, but I just tighten my grip. I shove open the door and throw him onto the floor.  
“Koma—”  
I shove my fingers in his mouth, and he starts gagging. His eyes start to water, and he tries to pull his head back, but I manage to keep a hold of his head with the other hand. He bites down on my fingers hard, and I let out a small yelp, but I don’t let myself pull back. He starts beating me with his closed fists, starts trying to push me off of himself, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins is too strong, and I keep my fingers in his mouth and his head in my hand. I force my fingers further down his throat, and he starts gagging. He’s gasping, clawing at my hand to try and free himself, but I just force my fingers down a little further. Just a little further.  
Suddenly he lurches forward and throws up on the both of us. I pull my fingers back and release his head, and he plants his hands on the ground and starts gasping for breath. His breathing is rough and shallow, and you can tell that he’s in pain. He coughs, and there’s blood. I sit there in stunned silence. Suddenly all of the energy and strength I had pulsing through me is gone, and my whole body is exhausted. My arms hang limply by my sides, as I hear his rough breathing subside into sobs. His body starts shaking, his arms are trembling, and he seems to shrink before my very eyes into someone helpless and small. I just let him cry. He falls forward slightly and rests his head on my chest. I reach up with the last of my will and stroke his hair. We sit there for what seems like forever, the smell of the vomit slowly filling up the room and then eventually dispersing. The half dissolved pills sit around us, steeped in bile, so long that it starts to solidify. Eventually, Hajime stops crying, after god knows how much time. He just breathes, the air quivering as it escapes his lungs.  
Slowly, he lifts his head and looks at me. There is no anger. There’s not even really sadness. Just exhaustion. Pure exhaustion.  
I stagger to my feet, pulling him up with me. I let him lean on me, his legs still unsteady. I practically carry him to the shower, his feet dragging limply behind him. I set him down against the wall, and turn on the water.  
“Let me know if it’s too hot or cold.”  
He’s still in his boxers, and I’m still in my school uniform, but I sit in the shower with him in silence, letting the water wash over me and soak into my clothes, until they feel so heavy I can barely move. I feel heavy.  
There’s a heavy silence in the air, but I don’t care. Hajime is next to me in his boxers, leaning against me as the shower runs over us. He lays his head on my shoulder. I can’t help but smile. I don’t let him see.  
Time seems to sit still, running over us as thick and slow as jelly. We sit for an at least an hour, until Hajime finally looks up at me.  
“Komaeda, why did you stop me?” It’s not a question, it’s a demand. Even with his voice as weak and wounded as it is now, I can tell. I don’t care. I answer it anyway.  
“Why wouldn’t I, Hajime?” I smile at him. He doesn’t seem like he wants to argue, and drops his gaze back to the shower drain. The last of the pills have long dissolved into the water and disappeared, and the water runs clear.  
A moment more of silence. “Can we turn it off now?” My heart skips. He said we. Me and Hajime. Here.  
I smile and respond softly. “Of course. I’ll go get you some clothes.” He doesn’t say anything, but picks his head up and allows me to leave. I’m dripping wet, so I strip down to my shirt and boxers and wring them out before I leave the bathroom, leaving a puddle on the floor behind me. There are two towels, so I grab one and wrap it around myself to try and keep from dripping water as I go to his dresser. I dig through his drawers. These are his clothes. He wears these. The excitement wells up in me like a fountain. I grab a large shirt and a pair of shorts from each of the top two drawers. My heart skips as I put my hands on the knobs of the bottom drawer. I pull it open, and there in front of my are his boxers. The strength of the excitement burning in my chest is unspeakable. I slowly reach my hand into the drawer and pull out a pair. They’re old and worn, but still soft in my hand. I rub them with my thumbs. I lift them to my face and bury my nose in them. This is what he smells like. I glance over my shoulder at the bathroom door, still cracked open behind me. I can’t see Hajime, which means he can’t see me. I quickly shuffle over to where I had unconsciously dropped my bag when I walked in and shove the boxers into the main pocket. I then quickly crawl back to his dresser, grab a different pair of boxers and some socks, and carrying them into the bathroom. Hajime is still sitting limply against the shower wall. He’s pale and stone faced. A profound sadness comes over me. I could have lost him today. Who would I be without my hope? He looks over at me. I set his clean clothes down on the back of the toilet so they don’t get wet, then grab the other towel from where it is hanging on the wall. He braces himself against the wall and pushes himself to his feet. He sways a little, and I rush over to catch him, but he pushes my hand away. He doesn’t look me in the eye. He grabs the towel and buries his face in it. I stand there looking at him, unsure what to do. I still have the towel draped over my shoulders, and am standing there in nothing but wet clothing. He looks over at me.  
“You going to watch me change?” he spits. I know he’s not angry at me, that he’s angry at himself for still being alive, but it still hurts. His voice is still so soft, though, even with the hoarseness of emotion that lingers behind.  
“I just don’t want to leave you alone.”  
“I can change by myself.”  
“Can you? You can barely stand upright.”  
“I can do it!” he snaps, but he wobbles a little. His cheeks flush a little. I can feel the concern on my face, and I know he can see it. He looks down, and his voice softens. “Just… turn around.” He mumbles. Grudgingly, I comply. I slowly spin and face the shower, and I can hear him shuffling and stumbling around.  
“Are you sure—”  
“Yes, I can do this!” It sounds almost like he’s crying again. I turn around. He’s on the floor, boxers off, towel draped over himself, struggling to get the clean pair over his wet legs.  
“Hajime—”  
“Stop, Komaeda!” When he turns his head towards me again, I see that he is crying.  
I pause for a moment. “Hajime, you have to dry yourself off better than that.” I take the towel off of my shoulders and lay it across him, rubbing slowly down his back. At first, he tenses up, but then he relaxes a little. He looks at me as I crawl around to the front of him and gently wipe his face. All that is between my hands and the soft skin of his face is this towel. This stupid towel. He blinks at me, surprised. I drop the towel off of my left hand and stroke his cheek, smiling.  
The heat builds in my chest, and I let out an embarrassed sigh, breaking eye contact. I pick up the towel again and dry off his chest, then I move to his feet and legs, slowly moving upwards until—  
He grabs my wrist. “Thanks, Komaeda. Can you turn around again?”  
I can’t speak, my chest tightening with excitement, so I just listen, standing back up and turning around. There are more sounds of him moving, more smoothly this time, and in a few minutes, he taps me on the shoulder. “You’re good now.” I turn around, and there he is, dressed in the baggy shirt and long shorts I had grabbed from his dresser. He looks me up and down, and I am suddenly keenly aware of how naked I feel. My boxers cling to my skin a little too closely, and my white shirt is entirely see through. I feel embarrassment well up in my cheeks and my neck grows hot. Hajime turns his head, and his cheeks redden too.   
“Let me get you some clothes to borrow,” he says quickly, then leaves before I can say anything. I wrap the towel more tightly around myself to hide the “too much of everything” that is showing through my wet clothing. He comes back in a few minutes and practically throws the clothes at me—an outfit similar to his, down to a pair of his boxers. My heart leaps up into my throat as I stare at them. Hajime gave me a pair of his boxers to wear.  
I don’t tell him I recognize this pair as the ones he had worn just a few days ago. Instead, I slip my own soaked pair off and slide into his, dressing in the t-shirt and shorts he gave me. I hang my towel and awkwardly drop my wet clothes into a pile with my bile-soaked ones, and leave the bathroom. Hajime is sitting on the bed holding an empty bottle. It’s the pill bottle from earlier. For a moment, my heart skips again. He turns his head and looks at me, seeing the panic on my face.  
“They’re gone. I took—tried to take—the whole bottle.”  
My heart slows. Relief. “Why do you have them?”  
He looks back at the bottle. I come closer and sit down next to him. The bottle doesn’t have his name on it. “They were my mom’s. She overdosed when I was in middle school.” He hands me the bottle. I recognize the name as an antidepressant. Ironic. “My dad couldn’t quite get rid of the pills. Couldn’t look at them, wouldn’t touch them. So I took them. In case one day…” his voice trailed off.   
“Listen,” he says sharply. “Please don’t tell anyone about this. I don’t have any more pills. I couldn’t try again even if I wanted to. So please, don’t tell anyone. I can’t leave Hope’s Peak. It’s all I have.”  
I grab his hands in mine. They’re still cold from the shower water, but I can feel the heat radiating from the blood pulsing through them. I smile. “You’ve got me.”


	2. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things slow down a little for Komaeda and Hinata, but are things ever really slow with Komaeda?

There wasn’t much else to be said after all was done. Hajime just wanted to sleep. He was understandably tired. I couldn’t bring myself to leave him, though, so I convinced him to let me keep an eye on him, just to make sure everything was alright. He was fine with that.

I’ve only seen him sleep from a distance, only heard his deep, heavy breaths through the crackle of a walkie talkie. When he finally nodded off, there wasn’t much I could do to keep myself from feeling turned on. He looked so small, so helpless, so innocent, but I knew so much more about him than he would have ever guessed. I’d seen him when he thought he was alone, and I knew all of his secrets. I knew that, despite what I had seen today, despite having to cradle him in my arms and help him get dressed, that the last thing he would be considered is helpless. He has the shining light of hope inside of him, one he had to fight for, and he has kindled it from nothing. He is not helpless.

I’m not used to doing things quietly, but the urge was just so strong—having him there in the room, breathing the way I’d always heard him breathe, so smooth and soft, I can’t help it. I go into the bathroom, which still smells vaguely of vomit and looks a little like a nightmare, and crack the door ever so slightly so I can still hear his breath. By the time I sit down, I’m already rock hard and my whole body is pulsing wildly. I feel primal, animalistic, as I reach into my—no, Hajime’s—boxers, and grab my cock. Slowly, I moved my hand up and down along the skin, feeling it throb, the heat building in my entire body.

“Ah—ah—” The sounds escape my mouth before I can stop them, and I have to bite my lips hard to keep from moaning louder. My legs tense and I push myself against the wall, resting my back against the cold hard tile. I feel my hair sticking against it as I tilt my head back further. I sink down again, and dig my nails into the grout between the tile on the floor. The pleasure grows through my chest like ivy, overtaking my whole body, overtaking my mind, overtaking my every thought. I know it’s coming, and I arch my back in one final grandiose movement, feeling the cum escape me as I fall back to the floor panting.

I pull my hand out of m—Hajime’s—boxers, and crawl slowly over to the sink to wash it off. I stagger, standing up, then I slowly turn the handle to the faucet and dip my hands in the warm flowing water. I look around the bathroom again. This is Hajime’s bathroom. He showers here. This is where he brushes his teeth. I look at the cup next to the sink, and sure enough there is an overused toothbrush with badly bent bristles. I stare at it for a while, it’s long blue and white handle hiding behind the glass so that it looks broken. I slowly reach for it, picking it up and turning it over in my hand. Hajime uses this every day. My heart starts thudding faster and faster. I drop it back in the cup and look in the mirror in front of me. In front of me is my own pale reflection. My eyes are set back in my head, so my bags are always very visible. It doesn’t help that I haven’t been able to sleep since coming here knowing that Hajime is practically next door, that he could wake up at any moment and stir around his room, decide that he’s lonely, decide to—

My hair is still mostly wet, and there are long white strands sticking to my face. There’s sweat coating my skin. I splash some cold water on my face and dry my face on Hajime’s towel. It still smells like him.

I glance around the bathroom one more time. I should clean up before Hajime wakes up. I check under his sink and find some paper towels and all-purpose cleaner. It’ll work. I start by scrubbing up the dried vomit. I feel my stomach lurch, but there’s still an unexplainable feeling of joy.

I continue to clean, scrubbing the floor with what little strength seems to still be in my arms. I rinse my uniform in the shower and wring it out as well as I can. I look at Hajime’s used underwear. I pick them up and stare at them. My heart begins to flutter. Hajime was wearing these just a few hours ago. I think of how they clung to him in the shower, how he sat with his legs just slightly spread as the water poured over the both of us, how beautiful he looked without his boxers on as he sat on the bathroom floor. If I had been a little braver then, maybe I would be in bed with him right now. Maybe I could finally taste him.

But there’s hope for me now. He knows me. He trusts me. And I know him.

 

It’s a few hours before Hajime wakes up. I grab my notebook and decide to fill in a few details from today. It’s not an experience I want to forget.

“Hajime’s mother committed suicide. I saved him. He’s going to love me soon. I bet my luck on it.”

“Hajime’s shampoo smells distinctly of guava. When he wakes up, it also has the slightly salty burn of sweat. I’ve never smelled something more beautiful.”

“Hajime lent me the boxers from the other day. I know they’ve been washed because I saw him do his laundry, but it’s like I can feel his hands on me.”

“Hajime has a lot of books in his room. He had to work hard to get into Hope’s Peak. I recognize a lot of them from middle school. He spent a lot of time studying.”

“Hajime trusts me enough to watch him while he’s sleeping. The best news!”

I fill up pages and pages of notes from wandering around his room. I’ve been in here before, but only to put the walkie talkie transmitter by his bed, and the batteries haven’t died yet so I haven’t been in here since. It’s been almost a month, since the opening ceremony. And now, since he’s been living here that whole time, it is distinctly his—it has his scent, his habits, his behaviors marking it in every way. It’s so much better up close. I snap a few pictures, but I can’t help but get distracted by Hajime laying so soundly asleep just a few feet away. I could reach out and touch him. I could—

The shadows slowly disappear as the sun reaches it’s highest point. Hajime finally rolls over and looks up at me. I’m sitting in his desk chair reading one of my textbooks. He smiles weakly at me.

“I’m still alive.”

I smile back. “Sure are.”

He rolls himself up and swings legs over the side of his bed, just like he does every morning. My chest tightens slightly.

He’s staring just past me, out the window at the tree. My tree. He doesn’t know. There’s a sly sort of satisfaction in knowing that.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, but hesitates for a moment, letting his lips fall closed again.

I bet his lips are soft.

Finally, after some time of just watching him think, he looks up at me again and speaks slowly, deliberately, as if to make sure he doesn’t make any mistakes.

“Komaeda-san… you saved… my life today. I don’t know… how… but it must be that luck of yours. And…” he sighs, still trying to figure out how to arrange the words he wants. I could wait forever. The anticipation of hearing Hajime’s voice is almost as good as feeling his fingers on my skin. “And I know how you feel… about the reserve course… so for you to come here and save me… is the luckiest thing that has happened to me. It may be… wrong of me to assume… or even ask… but…” He sighs again, and I can feel a smile creeping onto my face. I do my best to mask it, but the tightness in my cheeks is almost unbearable. It doesn’t matter. He drops his gaze and begins staring at the floor in front of him. He hesitates. “I really—”

My heart begins to beat so hard that my chest begins to hurt.

“Thank you.” I can hear it in his voice. He changed his mind. He’s not going to say what he’s thinking. It’s that pride of his. It’s why he was so miserable in middle school, and why he wanted to go to Hopes Peak Academy in the first place, and it’s why he’s miserable in the reserve course here. That damn pride of his. I know what he was going to say.

I feel my fists clench uncontrollably. I try to force myself to loosen my grip, but I can’t seem to do it. Instead, I dig my nails into the cover of my book and smile. My throat is tight and I can hardly speak. “It’s nothing, Hajime.”

What I want to say is “It’s everything, Hajime. You’re my world, Hajime. I love you, Hajime. I know you love me too, Hajime.” What I say is “It’s nothing, Hajime.” As if that even begins to describe what it is. Fate. Destiny. Love. “Nothing” is the last word that could be used to describe it.

“It’s nothing, Hajime.”

He glanced back up at me and smiles. Some of the tension in my body immediately subsides.

Neither of us knows what to say. I close my book. I wasn’t reading it. Don’t even know what it’s about. I look back up at him.

“Hajime, are you okay?”

He laughs. “Okay? Well, I tried to kill myself this morning so probably not. But,” his hands tighten, balling his covers up in his fingers, “I can’t honestly say that I want to die anymore. Maybe it’s only because you saved me, but I feel…” He trails off.

“Hopeful?”

He chuckles quietly. “Hopeful. I feel hopeful. For the first time in a long time.” He swallows forcefully, as if there was a lump in his throat. It’s amazing how steadily he can speak about everything. As if none of this even fazed him. I know differently, but I see why no one else would. No one else knows Hajime like me. “You know, Komaeda, maybe it’s wrong of me to ask you, but would you want to be my friend? I understand if you don’t—I’m just a reserve course student, and I—”

“Yes.” I can barely get the word out fast enough once I process what he’s saying. “Hajime, if I’m being honest, I always saw us as friends.” More than that. So much more than that.

I can see a weight lift from his shoulders. He immediately sits up straighter, and a light floods from his eyes as if he’s burning from the inside out. He smiles again. He has such a soft, kind smile.

“You know, Hajime, it’s about time for lunch and I’m starving. Why don’t we go out together? Get something from one of the shops?” I see him hesitate a moment. “I’ll pay for it.”

“You don’t have to—”

“The reserve course is expensive. I’ve got money. You deserve it. Let’s go out, Hajime.”

He waits a moment, then nods slowly. “Sure. Let’s go.”

 

We head down the street to a local sushi shop. I know it’s Hajime’s favorite.

Unsurprisingly, the shop is relatively empty. There are offices and shops nearby to Hopes Peak, but most restaurants cater to the students. This one in particular has pictures with each ultimate that has eaten here. Apparently, Sonia ate here a few days ago. Hajime stares at them as I ask the hostess for a table. I have to grab his shoulder lightly to get his attention as she leads us back to our booth. He jumps at first but is snapped back to reality in a moment. The restaurant is dimly lit with small paper lanterns above each table. We slide into our seats, and the hostess places our menus on the table. I know what Hajime is going to get—what he always gets. A tuna roll and a small bowl of udon instead of rice. He picks up the menu anyway and looks it over. I do the same. I know what I’m going to get, though. A tuna roll and a small bowl of udon instead of rice. I want to taste what he tastes.

“What are you going to get?” I smile.

“Hm, I’m not sure.” Of course he is. “The tuna roll looks good. But I want a small bowl of udon instead of rice. What about you?” He lays his menu down and looks up at me.

“I was thinking the same thing. It would probably be easier if we split it, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re probably right,” he nods in agreement.

We sit in silence for a moment. He glances around the restaurant as if it’s his first time here, trying to hide his excitement that I happened to pick his favorite sushi shop. His skin looks soft and smooth in the dim glow of the lantern, and the shadows on his face are easy. Looking at him now you wouldn’t be able to tell what had happened this morning. That’s what’s amazing about Hajime. Looking at him, you would never guess what kind of person he is, how strong, how amazing. You would never guess that he’s—

“What would you both like?” The waitress is suddenly at the table. I was too distracted by Hajime that I didn’t even notice her approach.

“We’ll take two tuna rolls and a bowl of udon to share,” he says with a smile. She nods and jots our order down, then scurries off to the kitchen.

He looks back at me. “So, Komaeda, it’s been a while. Middle school, right? You were in class two. I think we had gym at the same time a few times, but we never talked much.”

I chuckle lightly. “Yeah, I never got around to talking to you much. I really regret that.” His cheeks flush a little and his eyes widen. I pretend not to notice. “We also lived pretty close to each other for a while. Guess we’re even closer now, though.”

He tenses up a little and looks down at his hands folded in his lap. He is noticeably uncomfortable. I let out a sigh.

“Hajime, you can talk to me like a normal person.”

“I have a feeling that that’s the last type of person that you are,” he says jokingly. I laugh.

“I guess you could say that.”

He lets out a long sigh. “You have that weird luck thing. How does that work?”

I shrug. “I mean, I’ve had it since I was a kid. Whenever something bad happened, something equally good would happen, and whenever something good happened, something equally bad would happen. It’s like a have a set amount of luck, and it just has to balance itself out.”

Hajime nods along, but there’s a look of sadness—pity? jealousy?—in his eyes. No matter how much I watch him, sometimes I just can’t read him. At least it makes things exciting.

We fall silent for a moment. He doesn’t look at me. I hold my gaze. He’s sitting across from me. This is practically a date. Our first date.

“I guess your bad luck was having me throw up on you, and your good luck was having me not die, huh,” he says flatly. There’s a hint of bitter shame in his voice, and I can taste the difference in how he speaks.

“I’d say it was all pretty good luck. After all, I finally got to talk to you for real.” It’s so much better than watching from a tree.

He brings his elbows up and rests them on the table, laying his arms across the wood. His fingers are so close to me. They’re so small and delicate, so beautiful, so elegant up close.

He opens up his mouth again as if to speak.

“You don’t have to thank me again, Hajime.”

He looks startled, then confused. I reach my hand up and grab his hands in mine, lacing his fingers between my own. He straightens up, eyes wide. I can feel his grip tighten unintentionally with his shock. I smile.

“You know, I don’t think my luck is the only thing in the world that just works itself out. That nets zero. I think that sometimes there are just things that are supposed to happen, and if they don’t happen then the universe doesn’t know what to do. If you had died today, I think a lot of hope would have been gone from the universe.” All of my hope. His fingers are so soft and strong. “I think the universe wouldn’t know what to do without you.” I don’t know what I would do without you. “I think the universe just needed me to meet you. Like a red string of fate tying the two of us together.” I lift up my index finger, and he subconsciously mimics me. We rest our fingers with the pads against each other, so our fingerprints overlay with one another’s. He stares blankly at our hands, a look of contemplation in his eyes.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be so crazy to think that we were meant to know each other,” he says finally. There are crazier things. I smile at him.

The waiter approaches our table with a tray in her hands. Hajime pulls his hands away, and I reluctantly let his fingers slip through the spaces in my own.

“Two tuna rolls and a bowl of udon!” she says with a forced smile.

In a moment everything is slow motion. I see the tray begin to tip out of her hands and strike the table. I see Hajime’s glass tip over and shatter. I feel a hot sting on my cheek. I hear Hajime yelp. I see him bleed.

“I’m so sorry!” a voice says, but it sounds distant. It’s hers, but it’s barely there. All I see is Hajime, glass sticking out of the palm of his hand. He’s holding his wrist to keep the blood from dripping down his arm. He’s bleeding a lot. It’s beautiful. Like velvet. I bet it’s soft. I bet it’s sweet. I bet his blood tastes as complex and wonderful as him. I feel myself begin to smile. It’s that luck again. I can always trust it.

I rise from my seat and kneel down in front of him. I grab his wrist and turn his hand towards me. I grab the glass, feel it cut into my own skin, and pull it out. He lets out a small scream, but it’s quickly cut short as I lean in and lick his blood. I look up and see him staring blankly at me, partially paralyzed with embarrassment and partially frozen at the sight of his own blood.

“Ko—Komaeda, what—what are you—wh--?”

I lean in and place my mouth completely around the part of his palm that’s bleeding. I feel his warm blood flow slowly into my mouth. I could get drunk off of Hajime.

The waitress is staring dumbfounded. “S-sir, you have a burn on your cheek! You need to put ice—”

I quickly turn my head to her and let her see what I’d never let Hajime see. She stumbles back a few steps, her face turning pale. She turns and stutters something about getting a broom, then bolts to the back of the restaurant.

I turn back to Hajime, a smile on my face. I hold his bleeding hand in both of my own.

“She’s right—” he says, trying to hide the embarrassment from his voice. He turns his head to look at the table, now strewn with glass and hot broth. “You’ve got a burn on your cheek.” I squeeze his hand tighter, the blood still spilling through my fingers.

He grabs a piece of ice from his broken glass and begins to hand it to me, then pauses. Both of my hands are trying to stop his bleeding. I smile. Hesitantly, he brings the ice cube to my cheek and holds it there.

We must look like lovers, the two of us.

I was right, too. He tastes amazing.

 

“I thought your talent was _luck_ , Komaeda.” Hajime gestures to himself. He now has a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his hand and dried blood running down his arm. I don’t look much better—I have a small burn on my right cheek and his blood covering both of my hands.

“How is this not good luck Hajime? We got our meal for free.” I lift the bag of our food, now in tidy to-go boxes, up and gesture to it.

“We’re both covered in my blood.” He says that like it’s a bad thing.

“Fair enough,” I say jokingly. “Hey Hajime, can we stop by room really quickly? I want to pick something up.”

He nods. “That’s fine.”

By the time we make it back to my dorm it’s after two o’clock, and a lot of the ultimate students (that bothered to attend classes) are coming back as well. Hajime begins to look uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry, Hajime,” I say reassuringly. We approach the front door of the dorm, and they have never looked more imposing. The tall red door looms darkly over the two of us, as if saying Hajime doesn’t belong. I don’t care.

“Hajime-san?” chimes a meek familiar voice from behind us.

We both turn around, and before us is the small-statured Chiaki. Hajime smiles at her, and something feels warm inside of me.

“Chiaki-san!” he says excitedly. “I haven’t seen you for a while. What are you—well you live—I mean, this is your—” he stutters, his cheeks suddenly flushing red. Heat. This heat inside hurts.

She doesn’t seem to notice. “Are you hanging out with Komaeda-chan?” Komaeda- _chan_? My jaw clenches harshly, and my whole body tenses up. Neither of them are paying attention to anything other than each other, though, so they don’t notice my ears turn red and my lips purse into a thin line. I don’t try to stop myself. I let the rage fill my whole body. It hurts. It hurts.

They continue to talk, exchanging a few pleasantries, but their voices are simply echoes is my ears, too far for me to hear. Even hearing them mention my name in passing doesn’t shake me enough to loosen this anger. I burn red hot, and neither of them knows how likely they are to get burned.

For a moment I am paralyzed there, unable to move myself from the grips of my own anger, but finally something inside of me shifts.

I smile at Hajime. “I’ll be right back. I’ll just go grab what I need,” I say coolly.

He smiles back. It’s beautiful, a small show of comfort with me. I turn and push the doors open behind me. Immediately, a frown crosses my face like the shadow of my building.

I duck into my room uninterrupted and dig through a few of my drawers. I grab an unopened toothbrush and a small leather pouch, then turn to leave my room.

Looking around, I know Hajime would never be able to tell. I don’t have a large picture collage of him on my wall like some stalker. All of my pleasant memories of him exist in secret, like lovers.

I leave my dorm room and lock the door behind me. I duck past a few of my classmates and sink through the front door. The two of them are still talking. I gently place my hand on Hajime’s shoulder and he turns to me in subtle surprise, a reflex rather to being touch rather than a reaction to me. He relaxes when he sees me.

“I got everything I need,” I say with a smile. His eyes are so warm, so kind.

Chiaki seems to be falling asleep in front of us, so we quickly say out goodbyes and scoot past her on our way to Hajime’s dorm.

I glance over my shoulder and see her disappear into the dorm.

She can’t ever interfere.

 

“Hajime, do you like Chiaki?”

I see his cheeks turn slightly red. “I mean—I—of course, she—she’s really nice to me—and she’s—a good friend.”

A little bit of laugh escapes my lips. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

He turns his head away, but I can see the red deepen in his ears and neck. He doesn’t say anything. So he does.

“It’s fine! She’s cute, you know.” She’s disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. “You two would be cute together.” I know you don’t like her. She could never give you what you need. You need me. I already know you. I already know what you need. I’d do anything for you. I’d die for you, and I’d—

“I mean, she’s nice.” He steadies his voice and he turns his head back a little. Some of the embarrassment subsides.

I find myself laughing. I have to force myself to stop. It’s not funny. I’m angry. I’m furious. I clench my fist and suck in through my teeth.

We arrive at Hajime’s dorm. We get a few odd looks—we must look like a mess, both covered in blood and wandering around in clothes too big for us. And to top it all off, the main course students never venture to the reserve course dorms. They just don’t understand. This isn’t about them. It’s about Hajime. It’s all about Hajime.

We enter his dorm, and the shadows are already starting to deepen, though it’s barely three in the afternoon. It’s a different place entirely in the late afternoon. Every edge is sharp and hard, but Hajime still looks soft and kind.

There’s a note on the floor. I catch myself smiling. When I had first set it up to fall after we left, I never would have guessed just how well my luck would pan out.

Hajime looks at it puzzled, and picks it up, turning it over in his hands. There are no identifying marks.

The color drains from his face as he reads it over. I see him scan back up and read it again. And again. And again.

I have to keep myself from smiling.

“What is it Hajime?” I walk over to him quickly and look over his shoulder at the small piece of folded paper.

               _Hajime—the reserve course deserves to suffer. Tonight you will suffer on their behalf._

He’s shaking, his whole body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.

“Hajime—” I whisper, trying to hide the eagerness in my voice.

“What is—” his voice quivers. “What is this?”

I take the note from his hands and crumple it up. I toss it over my shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” I won’t leave you Hajime.

There’s a look of horror on his face—his eyes are wide and empty, his eyebrows push up and crease his forehead dramatically, his mouth sits slightly open. I can tell that he’s terrified. I wince a little. I had to do this. I had to threaten him. Just for tonight.

I have to hurt him just this once, just to protect him. To prevent anyone from interfering. I have to protect our love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I will not be responding to any more comments unless it demands my immediate attention, but know that I am reading them and taking them into consideration. I have entirely rewritten the next chapter to more greatly reflect what you guys like and to eliminate aspects of my writing that you don't like. There may be a delay (not likely, but maybe) in the release of the next chapter, but know that it will be AT MOST two days.  
> I really do appreciate all of the feedback and I am taking it all to heart, doing my best to improve myself and the story I am telling, and doing my best to make my work reflect this. Thank you for your careful and critical reading, and your continued critiques. They are very helpful and make me a better writer and storyteller.


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